To Those Who Cried Over Their Letter
by SaladOrCellarDoor
Summary: This is for all those who were left in despair when they never received their Hogwarts letter on their eleventh birthday. There may just be hope yet...
1. Jessica Ryder

**Author's Note: **Sorry this chapter is so short, but I wanted to get something up at least. That way, I have an incentive to keep working on it. ;) Enjoy! I don't own Harry Potter or anything related to it. (Wouldn't that be _something_, though?)

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It was late at night, past her bedtime, but she didn't care. Any other member of the self-dubbed "Potter Generation" would understand. The quick, "Good night," which actually meant, "Please just leave the room as soon as you possibly can so I can finish my reading while pretending to be asleep," had already long passed. Now she lay curled up on the right side of her bed, propped up against two down pillows, her auburn hair fanned out against those pillows. The lamp was lit on its low setting, providing just enough light to read the print upon the thick book's pages. Still, she strained her crystal blue eyes as she read each word and felt as if her eyelids were heavier than stone as she forced her eyes to keep focus and fight the lack of sleep that caused the words to jump about the page.

For someone who had loved the Harry Potter saga so much, it even surprised Jessica Ryder herself that she was completely clueless as to what was to come after the Order of the Phoenix, even though it had been released five years prior to that eerie night. You see, she had begun reading the books at the tender age of four when the first book of the series had been published in the States. At first, her mother had read them to her at her bedside, a chapter or two a night, and Jessica would drift to sleep and join the world that seemed to lift off the pages. But, as can be easily deduced, the anticipation was too much to handle. As her reading ability became stronger, Jessica would often read to herself after her mother had left the room, eager to absorb as much as possible of the magical tale. As much as the books affected her, so did all else she had read. The sudden influence of reading in her life had caused Jessica to devour every book in sight without a single glance back, never allowing the information to settle, never allowing her mind the proper time to digest the meal that had been her book. Reading at such a hungry pace, Jessica was able to love Harry Potter, but never develop the close connection so many would come to have. So, when the movies started to come out after the fourth book, she stopped reading the books.

She had friends who had urged her to continue the series, but there were always obstacles in the way: school, family, boys, other books. Now, at fourteen, she was faced with another one of life's friendly obstacles—starting high school. Neither content nor depressed, she simply felt apathetic towards this new start. How she longed that the acceptance letter to her highly coveted prep school had been instead a letter from Hogwarts.

The seventh book had only just come out, so Jessica, feeling a sudden pang of regret due to all she had missed in the Potter world, had decided to properly read the books. For almost a week and a half she had been rereading books one through four and had almost finished book five. Jessica was engrossed in the action taking place in the Department of Mysteries. The contrast between the world of flying spells and imminent death and the world in which this gently girl lay was immeasurable, it seemed. Any onlooker would have seen a peaceful girl reading with a dreamy look in her glazed over and droopy eyes, the picture of an overtired angel on a mission. Such an onlooker would never have guessed the battle raging on in her imagination.

With her mind stuck in the foreboding aisles of prophecies, Jessica could not help that her overactive imagination was sending her messages that the same eeriness existed in her own world; she had the eerie feeling that she was being watched, and her thoughts began to wander and wonder.  
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Silly. Don't let the books get to your head. If too much Potter starts affecting you, you'll have to wait a while before you can touch the books again._

But there was no mistaking the eerie feeling of the night. It almost felt as if the lamplight she could see outside her window had been playfully putting itself out, and then relighting itself just as Jessica turned to make sure that what she had seen in her peripheral vision was true. An awkward hooting was outside her window, but owls hadn't been in the neighborhood since she had first moved in, when the neighborhood was new and filled with the empty dirt lots that had been so abundant in Florida at the time. She could have sworn that dark shadows kept flying upwards near the entrance of her house. Occasionally, these shadows had a creepy glow to them. It was as if they were evil, but all the same checking up on her to make sure she was well. As sick as she felt seeing these shadows, she was able to convince herself that they were figments of her imagination, and, bringing forth the happiness that could be found from reading, she urged herself to read on into the early morning.

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**Author's Note:** I hope this chapter gave you a little taste of my writing style, though it's not quite at the meat yet. More to come, though, as I'm on vacation! ;)


	2. Owen Orwell

**Author's Note:** The first 7 chapters are all going to be along the lines of these 1st two that I've posted, a sort of brief introduction to the 7 main characters who are not already well-known to you through the Potter series, which I don't own (see? I got my disclaimer in there).

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He was your typical closet case Potterhead, the too-cool, seemingly self-absorbed jock who you'd never expect to have even picked up a book, let alone read it through to the end. "Owen, Owen," the fans would always chant at the football games as their hero and quarterback threw touchdown pass after touchdown pass. The cheerleaders even made him his own cheer. "Owen, Owen! Yeah, he's got it goin'…ON!" The utter brainlessness of their cheers never seemed to faze him. Of course, he loved the attention. But in the end, Owen Orwell had more brains in his head than his reputation at school gave him credit for, albeit not the most, by far. So, when these gorgeous sideline Barbie dolls (and the occasional few whose appearances did not live up the stereotypical cheer standard) cheered that air-headed cheer, he could care less. Little did they know that as he threw the ball, he was not thinking about its leathery feel, but rather the contrastingly cool metallic touch of a small golden snitch. He would have killed for the chance to awake to a changed world in which his fantasies were reality and he could leave football behind for quidditch. Moreover, he would have loved to replace that somewhat cute little brunette flyer that kept eying him with a Veela.

Owen was changing in the locker room after a victory in what had been the team's toughest game of the season. In his quiet solitude, he could hear the equally rowdy fans in the stands outside. Rival Cougars could be heard growling, quite literally, at the Lonewood Rangers, upset by the defeat. The Rangers stood their ground, though, true to their title as the defenders of their school and pride.

As he peeled his socks off his feet, he chuckled to himself at the sight of the snitch tattoo on his outer left ankle, a mark he had let few set their eyes on, his parents included. His father would not have understood the cultural reference, but even without that knowledge he would have been furious. The rage would not have been due to the tattoo. In fact, Owen had gotten permission for a separate tattoo from his father, one that he most likely would have approved of, had he known its meaning. Owen was wary of betraying his father's trust, no matter how infrequently the two shared typical father-son moments. Therefore, Owen hadn't wanted to take any risks by getting a tattoo his father would not approve of. So, he had printed off a picture of the dark mark for his father and asked permission to tattoo it on his left forearm. Owen hadn't ever been tempted by the dark arts, merely mesmerized by the way they could appeal to some. He knew his brutish father would easily approve the menacing design, and he could always use the permission to tattoo as an excuse for the snitch, if his father were ever to discover it.

At that moment, the intricate design of the black rendering of a golden snitch captured his attention. A strange feeling began to set in as he contemplated the tattoo, and, for a split second, the feathery wings seemed to lift slightly off of his ankle, an illusion, no doubt, he had convinced himself. But no sooner had he affirmed that it was simply and illusion caused by an overtired and overworked imagination than the lifted wins of his snitch tattoo began to flap about. Owen stared incredulously at the lifted inked before blinking his eyes rapidly and trying to shake the mysterious image from his head.  
_  
Dude, you had a rough game out there. You can't let the stadium lights mess with your head. You just need a good night's sleep…maybe a week or two, even…_

But his intuition would not let it go, and no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that lack of hydration or overexcitement was the cause of his "madness," he was subconsciously scared beyond belief. As he drove home, the cheerleaders driving alongside him were not even as distracting as they typically were. On most days, the busty girls hanging halfway out of the passenger seats shouting out the locations of the latest parties and promising all sorts of rewards for the victory if he would attend these parties would have been enough of a distraction to drive him off of the road. But the shrilly shrieks of teenage hysteria and school spirit were nothing compared to the sinister shadows that seemed to creep alongside his car in Owen's peripheral vision, always maintaining a distance just barely far enough away to disappear (or perhaps disapperate) merely seconds before he could ever manage to focus his tired and bloodshot eyes on them. But seeing wasn't necessary for Owen. His intuition was enough to prove their existence.

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**Author's Note:** I've done something clever with the names of the 7 main original characters, which is why I've been posting their full names as the chapter titles. You probably won't be able to tell with only 2 up so far, but kudos to anyone who figures it out in the future! I know that not much in the way of the plot has been posted so far, but I'm curious to see who is interested in the summary and to hear everyone's thoughts in general.


	3. Annie Whitler

**Author's Note:** I loved writing this one so much, as two of my favorite characters are introduced. I wish a happy New Year to all, and a 2009 full of magical surprises!  


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She had only ever seen the movies. How she had survived in such a way, her friends could never tell. Annie Whitler believed that Hermione discovered who Nicholas Flamel was. Annie had no idea what the raspy whispering sounds were in the Chamber of Secrets as Harry roamed the lonely walls. Annie had no idea who the Mauraders were. She had no idea how Harry got his map back. She had no idea that Dobby was important. She had no idea Blast-Ended Skrewts even existed! Or Winky, for that matter. Annie never considered Fleur to be rude, but rather sweet and charming. She didn't understand half of the fifth movie, but loved it all the same. And she'd never guess in a million years that Snape loved Lily. Her friends could only guess how she would cry when Snape killed Dumbledore, how she would never see it coming. There was so much that Annie did not know, and so much that she only _thought_ she knew. It would be a while before she ever found out the truth.

But most astounding of all is that this adventurous and sly girl, with her almost unnaturally ruby-colored shoulder-length hair, layers and straight, choppy bangs framing her small, alluring face, jade-green crystalline eyes piercing those who dared to take in her vampy appeal, would never even realize that she had been missing out on such vital information. The lack of such vital information as, perhaps, her uncanny likeness to a cross between a Veela and an edgy Lily Evans would never faze her.

It was a lazy summer day in the end of June, the humidity thick and suffocating in the air as Annie took a casual morning stroll along the Savannah River to her usual bench, near that waving girl Florence statue that seemed to attract so many tourists. Annie closed her eyes and began to dream one of those fantastic dreams that are not quite a daydream because they are so deep and lifelike they might as well be the sort you would have while asleep.

She pictured the waving girl as she had been towards the end of the nineteenth century, cryptically flagging down ships as they passed down the river to port. The smell of the steamboats filled her lungs, the tooting of a ship's horn rang in her ears, and the dawning mist left a refreshing taste on her tongue. It was then that Annie seemed to awake from the hypnosis her vivid imagination had created. She perked up, her senses tingling with the experiences of her daydream.

Now she heard the chatter of the tourists and their young children at play. Three brothers by the peanut shop were playing cops and robbers. Two sisters were playing pattycake. One child (whether a boy or a girl, Annie could not tell, for the child's thick, chocolate bowl-cut did not allow such a distinguishment) sat along the cobblestone curb with a thick book in his or her small, chubby hands. The hardcover book had lost its slip cover, and the binding that had lain beneath it was tattered and stained, not with the appearance of having been mistreated, but rather the feel of a book that had been loved for years, years the boy or girl clearly didn't have. Without a doubt, Annie concluded, it was Harry Potter. She had never seen another book carried by a child as if it were the key to life itself. And somehow, though she could never pinpoint how, this young child who was perhaps in his or her first or second year of reading seemed to be important. And so she watched.

The children that Annie had been watching, she soon realized, all belonged to one large family of six children. _Weasleys_, she smiled in her mind as she thought of the Potter family that so resembled this one, although this family she was currently observed lacked the flaming heads the Weasleys sported. The firey heads were replaced by soothing tones of browns that radiated warmth from the olive-skinned family. They called for a "Carol" they couldn't seem to find, who turned out to be the seemingly invisible child on the curb. __

So it's a girl! She has the most beautiful eyes…beautiful eyes that seem to be staring at me? Me! Is it that obvious that I'm people-watching her? Oh, no! I hope her family doesn't think I'm rude! Oh, but they don't seem to notice our silent stare-off.

And that was when it clicked that Carol's family was far from the Weasley family, for while the Weasleys remained a unit, Carol's family was severed. The mother and father whispered amongst themselves, occasionally glancing to passerbys, then the boys, then the girls, then Carol. The boys had left their cops and robbers for the bag of peanuts their parents had purchased. The girls had left their game of pattycake for some ice cream cones at a nearby shop. But Carol kept on reading, at an unnaturally fast pace as well.

As Annie watched the strange, thin family with heads of thick and shiny copper and chocolate hair, their awkward conversations began to drift toward her range of hearing, albeit only in snippets.

"They won't allow it to follow Salem. They've seen the affects that has had on us!"

"But if one is discovered, the others will quickly fall."

"None is as well-protected."

"And none is as well-sought."

"This could be the best for us both."

"It could be the end of us both."

"Carol, quit being so conspicuous!"

Carol, quit being so _conspicuous?_ The mystery began to grow, and Annie's romanticized mind began to sift through the countless possible secrets the family may have been hiding. She hadn't noticed the gasp she had let escape her mouth, but she had noticed that it made the family stop their charade of normalcy for a split second to look at her.

It was then that Annie could have sworn she saw Carol wink, and subsequently the waving girl flapped her flag once, ever so subtly. The action had been just subtle enough that Carol believed she had seen the flag move, but could not force herself to believe it had been more than a mirage.

_Impossible? Perhaps…but no! Could it be that this family has more to do with the Weasleys than I could have ever dreamed imaginable?_

But a glance toward Carol's family revealed a distressed Carol being forced into a stroller by a scolding mother who claimed she'd "had enough of sweaty Georgia for the day," a pair of girls who walked hand-in-hand behind their mother, who already had the wheels of the stroller moving quickly, and three brothers and a father, left behind by the girls' quick actions, in hot pursuit. To the average eye, it was the typical American family.  
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Author's Note:** Even longer updates to come in the future. I personally love it when a fic I'm following has great, long updates, so that's what I'm planning for the future. As you can see, each of my seven main original characters is going to be a different sort of Potter fan. Has anyone seen the movie Carol's Journey? Carol's name was chosen because her appearance in my mind resembles Carol in the movie. It's such a cute film! .com/title/tt0331701/.


	4. Nathan Lowry

**Author's Note**: It's been a while since my last update, but this is double the size of my last update, so I hope that makes up for it! No worries, I'm back on a regular (hopefully weekly or better) updating schedule. In this chapter, I have a long list of literary works at one point. I know they should be underlined, but, quite frankly, the underlining was a bit of a distraction. Sorry! If that bothers any grammar fanatics, let me know, and I'll change it, but I figured the omission of such a long set of underlines would be appreciated. Enjoy!

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The tedious work with the children was not even comparably as offsetting as the strain it took him to force half a smile whenever the old hag woman happened to be observing his actions. It was not that Nathan Lowry did not appreciate his work at the pre-school, nor that he did not care for the poor, unfortunate souls who were forced to spend the daylight hours of their first summers at the run-down camp while their parents struggled to scrape together the barely substantial meal these same, scraggly souls would return home to. As a matter of fact, were it not for these haggard and malnourished beings, Nathan would have quit his service at the horrible Dade Dungarees Care Center after the first hectic day of work he had spent there.

He could almost laugh about that fateful day now, but at the time it had been one of the most horrific atrocities he had experienced in his then fourteen years of life. Nathan attended Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire, and the summers he spent with his grandparents and guardians in Key Biscayne, Florida had often brought him to insufferable levels of boredom as neither he nor his grandparents were familiar with any of the children in the small upper-class neighborhood. In truth, there were few children altogether on the key, and even fewer who lived near his house on Harbor Drive. The few that he had seen playing in the neighborhood or in the park on a daily basis, as he had solitarily biked through the tourist-infested streets, had seemed to know the members of their own tightly-knit group so well that an added playmate would have felt the relative importance of a spare tire lazily losing air in the back of a rarely-used car's trunk. Sick and tired of the constant nagging of his grandmother while he was at home, he set out to occupy his time in a pragmatic way, and so Nathan had come upon an opportunity to give back to the area surrounding his community in the form of the Dade Dungarees.

His first day at the Care Center had been met with screeching toddlers in their terrible twos, vomiting sicklings, a multitude of diaper changes, too many juice spills to count, temper tantrums galore, petty disagreements amongst the pre-school-aged girls, a decent hour of vacuuming followed by the realization that the mess had reappeared within minutes, fights over snacks that broke into hitting, countless repetitions of "No hitting. Hitting hurts. Use your words instead," arguments over who tore the head off of whose doll, an unnecessary amount of Playdough stuck in every nook and cranny a toddler of child could possibly be capable of encountering, and the constant bickering, nagging, and overall unpleasantries that accompanied the old hag woman wherever she went. And yet, Nathan had come home to find that the sense of relief in finding he had survived paled in comparison to the sense of accomplishment he felt after having touched the little beasties' lives. And so the tradition of his summer volunteering at the Care Center had begun that fateful day, and so it had survived in a reassuring sense of repetitiveness for the three years that had followed.

Even the old hag woman, a Mrs. Plecky, had come to earn a place of endearment in Nathan's heart, though he wouldn't admit it. She founded the center out of the kindness of her own heart, though, in Nathan's mind, the act alone most likely deprived her of all the kindness she had to begin with. At first, he had been insulted by her constant assaults on his character, her penchant for tiresome banter, and her nosy questions that always seemed to bring up answers that merely spurred questions of a still more personal nature, if such a thing were possible. Now, he could see through the steel façade that kept a truly compassionate woman hidden beneath it. When she curtly told him that his "damned curls" were "spookin' the chillun,'" he now understood that deep down she found comfort in his familiar and quirky hair. It was simply not Plecky's nature to outright thank Nathan for a hard day's work. Instead, the Plecky way was to offer Nathan a stale brownie because it was "so rancid e'en the dog won't eat it." The harsh southern accent and blatant gaps in her rotting teeth had given young fourteen-year-old Nathan the chills as he worked at the center, and he had come home to sleepless nights filled with occasional drifting into nightmares. Seventeen-year-old Nathan saw her worn appearance as a symbol of her selflessness; visits to the dentist's office had been regarded as an unnecessary waste of money that could and should be used to stock the bare library shelves in the cottage that served as the center.

The library. It was Nathan's most beloved part of the center, and rightly so. Though it was not stocked with many titles, those it held were all classics, capable of capturing any youngling's attention, capable of lulling the hyperactive children into a state of hypnosis or intoxication. Moreover, Nathan was a bibliophile and bookworm in the purest and truest senses of the words; he had been known to eat, sleep, and breathe anything at all having to do with literature, but, more avidly, fiction. His favorite moments at the center came when he was able to share the great works that had enchanted him as a child with the center's youths. He had read to them from Aesop's Fables, Hans Christian Anderson's Fairy Tales, Mr. Popper's Penguins, Peter Pan, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Madeline, The Black Stallion, Old Yeller, Grimm's Fairy Tales, The Jungle Book, Pippi Longstocking, Anne of Green Gables, The Tale of Peter Rabbit, The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, Little House on the Prairie, The Velveteen Rabbit, Swiss Family Robinson, Good Night, Moon, The Story of Babar, The Jungle Book, Mary Poppins, Narnia, Winnie-the-Pooh, Little Bear, Curious George, and, of course, an assortment of Shel Silverstein, Eric Carle, and Dr. Suess works. Surprisingly, he had found that in his quest to introduce his little friends to all the stories that had inspired him, he had forgotten a contemporary classic that stood in the hearts of many as an instant favorite. He had forgotten to read to them from Harry Potter.

Nathan, mature beyond his years, decided to give his own beloved Harry Potter collection to the center, as he was not one to read books multiple times. Each book had not been cracked since he had first read it. Anxious to share these four thousand plus pages with the children he had come to love, Nathan began "Reading Circle Time" earlier than usual, in order to ensure that he would be able to make it through at least a chapter before the parents came to collect their younglings. Twenty-six pairs of bright, eager eyes stared up at Nathan from their cross-legged positions on the floor as he introduced the first book of the series.

"Have you ever heard of Harry Potter?"

About twenty of those heads shook a slow "no," but six seemed to hesitantly nod "yes."

"Janine, do you want to tell us what you know about Harry Potter before I begin reading?"

"He saved our world!"

_Well, maybe some of the fanatics would argue that. Did her mom ever mention the books to me?_

"Janine, is Harry a wizard?"

"Yes. Harry makes magic, just like you!"

_I never knew the kids thought so highly of me. I help to take care of them six days a week, and now they think I'm a wizard! I haven't even shown them any of my card tricks. Maybe I should try that some time._

"Harry is like Nate?" Now some of the other children were perking up at the thought of reading a book about their beloved hero, Nate.

"Is it a book about your adventures?"

"Now, hold on, everybody. I'm not a wizard. The only magic I can do is card tricks. I can show you card tricks tomorrow, if you'd like, but right now we're going to read about Harry Potter. Harry isn't real, OK?" A series of disappointed sighs were muttered, though it was difficult to tell if the children were more disappointed that Nathan was not a wizard or that Harry was not real. No matter the cause of their disenchanted pouts, they soon were lulled by the soothing story of an orphaned boy who seemed to have a rougher life than they had, locked beneath the stairs. The group was so captivated that Nathan was able to whiz through two full chapters, all while hilariously imitating British accents and giving each character a voice of its own. The children left the center that evening with grins that spread from ear to ear, ready to assault their parents with a recount of the eventful story they had begun to read.

"So they're thinkin' you're a wizard, now, huh?" Plecky, who had never read Harry Potter, though she loved books just as much as Nathan, had joined Reading Circle Time in order to hear the instant children's classic. "Your grandparents keepin' you in a closet, now, too?" She cackled at her own joke, in her usual manner.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Plecky. Compared to my situation at home, Harry had it easy at the Dursleys!" Nathan decided to play along, his mood significantly improved by the revisiting of a book that he had treasured so as a child.

"You're joking, Curly, but at least Harry's gonna get him some schoolin'. You, what have you got to look to? College?" More cackling, though slightly subdued this time, almost as if Plecky had regretted her remark.

Nathan treated it as if it were another joke. At the time, he had thought it was only a joke. "Well, yeah, I guess I have no hopes of going to Hogwarts. Maybe I could try some home schooling. I'll go get a new wand with my birthday money and work at that whole magic thing on my own, right?" Nathan was proud of his ability to reciprocate what he believed was Plecky's sarcasm, as he was not one known for his joking ability.

To Nathan's surprise, he saw Plecky crack the first smile he had seen on her in a couple of years. It was small and barely noticeable, but to one who spent so much of his time in Plecky's proximity, it was as obvious as a polar bear in Texas on the Fourth of July. She spoke in a tone that could have passed as both a joke and earnest concern. "If only it was that easy."

Nathan went home that night after cleaning up the center with a feeling of utter confusion. Though his conversations with the old hag woman were nothing short of odd on any other day, their latest exchange seemed to be telling, though how he could not be sure. The effect, though, was great. Suddenly, Nathan's eyes were open to the strange occurrences the young children at the center had noticed for the past four summers. He was suddenly aware that he had an eerie effect on his surroundings, as if all the inanimate objects around him were working to his advantage, ready to half-leap into his grip when he needed them. Suddenly, the close connection he had always held with animals did not seem as normal to him as it once had. Most of all, though, he had begun to notice the far from ordinary way in which his grandparents not only lived their very private lives, but also protected their only grandchild.

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**Author's Note**: As always, thanks so much for reading! Since I have so much more to come in this novel-length fic, I'd love it if you would give me feedback as to what you like or don't like so far. The sooner you let me know, the sooner I can fix it in these past chapters or in future chapters, and the more likely I will be to add more of what you like in future chapters. ;)


	5. Nicole IdeCarrigan

**Author's Note:** I feel so awful that every week I promise a sooner update and then something comes up. My apologies. The delay for this chapter has been due to the death of a close friend in a car accident. He was eighteen and about to graduate this year. Please, be cautious on the road. Be aware of others and of yourself, whether you are alone or with passengers. All it takes is a second. Take care, and enjoy this chapter.

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She was tall, fit, blonde, and had a plump, pouty scowl on her face that showed her clear discontent at the situation, while still maintaining the elegance she always carried about with her. Nicole was a model by nature, so even as her eyebrows arched in disbelief and her eyes grew into penetrating ice-blue beads that dared him to say one more word, all he could pay attention to was the natural air of beauty and poise she carried about with her.

"I was only wondering if you would prefer diet or regular soda. It was not a comment about your weight at all. On the contrary, you seem to be a very fit and active young woman with a lot of determination, but I was merely trying to see if you prefer one taste rather than other. I see several overweight weekly customers who would never think to order a diet soda because they cannot stand its taste, whereas there is this one girl who is so thin that I am sure she could eat off our whole menu within a day and still not have to worry about a weight problem. She never, ever orders anything but diet. And it's not like it's because she worries about her weight. She always gets desert. It's simply because she likes the taste better. Now, myself, I really think that it does not matter that much. A soda is a soda, right? But it's the customer that matters, so I have got to take that into account. I am sure you can understand that. But, either way, I apologize if I offended you in any way. If you have to preference, then I suppose I'll give you a regular then." Speaking was a boy with hopes of a girl truly beyond his league. He worked at a simple burger joint with a fifties feel for his mother's good friend in all his spare time in hopes of raising the money he needed to attend college. At the age of sixteen, he already had a worn look about him from constantly caring for his careless mother and younger siblings. He was mature beyond his years, though behind the haggard look he wore about him due to having worked for eight straight hours that Saturday, there was a certain assertive charm about him.

"Are you quite finished rambling?" Even the harshness in her voice revealed an attractive quality in the clear-cut tones that rang out as she broke into the boy's monologue.

"Uh, I am sorry, miss. I was just trying to explain to you what was going through my head." Even as she put on her show of superiority, he tried his hardest to maintain the polite demeanor he knew was expected of him.

"Do the world a favor, and let us simply imagine what it in your head. Otherwise, you may bore the entire population to dead. And, when I tell you to surprise me, I wholeheartedly mean it. Meal and drink, surprise me. And perhaps you could surprise me even more and become a good waiter before I ask for the check? It could substantially alter your mood after I tip." She couldn't stand workers who felt the need to become friendly with their customers. She was the kind of girl who felt more than assured that she was far superior to anyone else who happened to cross her path, be it in the amount of money she possessed, the sheer power of her beauty, or the prestige she knew all could instantly realize was attached to her name.

"Surely, miss. Surprise is my middle name." It was a final and futile attempt to crack the pout into the plump smile he had seen as she had chatted away on her cell phone only moments before to perhaps a boy who was far better looking than he.

"I could hardly care less about your name, be it first, middle, or last." She was direct and straightforward and could hardly have cared less about his opinion than she even did for his name. That was just the way she simply was. Whereas some use their success for the betterment of others, she was conceited and condescending toward those who did not share in her success.

"Well, good tipper or not, model or not, I could care less about your first, middle, or last name either unless you start treating me with a little more respect." He was not used to talking back to his customers, or even speaking his mind in so direct a fashion, just as she was not used to be spoken to as such.

"Do you think you're funny, Mr. First Surprise Last?"

"I think I was a human being the last time I checked, though I am not sure if you would recognize one when you saw one, surrounded as you are by the superstars and elite who seem to think of themselves as a separate race."

"I am starting to lose trust in your judgment. I'm not so sure I want you to surprise me with my meal and drink anymore."

"I'm not so sure I want to serve you that meal and drink anymore, either. But, in case you were wondering, I was about to place an order for a regular Coke, served in the classic glass bottle, a hamburger with applewood-smoked bacon, a large side of fries, with extra salt, and a sixteen ounce chocolate milkshake without whipped cream or the cherry on top. I've seen you come in here before. It's your usual." In that instant, it was as if he had hit her in a soft spot, although it was perhaps the only one that may have existed. Her eyes widened as she was struck by the fact that no matter how she had always treated him, he had always respected her with the same care as his other customers. He had noticed her, but not just as the well-to-do young woman she was, but as a person with habits, taste, preferences. Never before had anyone cared more about her choice in hamburger topping than her current bank account offering.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"Mr. First Surprise Last, apparently. But you can call me Seamus Gordon Sullivan, or Sully if you consider yourself a friend." He was even open to friendship after such heated banter.

"I'd call you Sully, but I like Seamus better. It's like the kid in Harry Potter, right?" She awkwardly stumbled for something to say and had settled on the first thought that came to her mind.

_Oh, crap! Maybe he hates Harry Potter. I can't just throw out things like magic and all that. People will think I'm a freak! Or worse… But maybe he's into that?_

"Yes. Precisely why I go by Sully, although I like the books. My mom is a bit too set on our Irish heritage."

_So she reads Harry Potter, huh? At least she has some sense in her. She did seem intelligent when she was arguing. A bit of a bitch, but the brain is definitely there._

"I like it. I'm Nicole. Nicole Clare Ide-Carrigan. You can put in my order, Seamus. And take your break early. And get yourself a burger and shake, too." He already knew her name. There was no need to introduce yourself if you were lucky enough to connected to the Carrigan family in one way or another. To be a Carrigan girl was the most envied of all.

_A Carrigan girl can get whatever boy she wants, whatever clothing she wants, whatever jewelry she wants, whatever car she wants. Hell, she can get whatever role in a movie she wants. I'll bet she could have herself written into a Harry Potter book, if there ever is another! So why does she seem to all of a sudden want me?_

He quickly placed the order with the chef, handed out the bill to the only other customer he was serving at the time, and slid down into the booth across the table from Nicole.

"So, Nicky, why the sudden melting of your icy heart?" She just laughed, whereas she would have snapped at him earlier.

"So I'm Nicky now? I don't think anyone has ever had a nickname for me before."

"It's not a _nick_name. It's a _nicky_name." Again, that silly high pitched laugh that seemed so forced. The truth was, she was genuinely laughing. But Nicole hadn't laughed in so long, she had almost forgotten how.

"You're strange, Seamus. Pretty offbeat and different. No one snaps at me, you know. I could get you fired for it."

"I highly doubt that, Miss Carrigan. Your daddy own this place?"

"No, but I'm fairly sure he's the landlord. I'll have to check on that though." She cracked a huge grin, but he could tell that she was serious.

"You should smile more often. It looks a lot nicer. Not that you didn't look nice before. It's just…well, wow."

"But if I smiled like this all the time, would your cheeks be such a bright red all the time?"

"Uhh, I guess so? Maybe I could get used to it. For now, I guess I'll just check on those burgers."

"They never get cooked this quickly."

"It's late. No one is here. And I put in a speedy order with the chef." He quickly excused himself to the kitchen to check on their orders.

"You harassing little Miss Carrigan, or you put one of those crazy spells on her like you do with all the other girls?" Jim Shack, the chef, was always observing Sully's every move.

"I really don't know why you think I have some gift with women. But I assure you that I am certainly not harassing her. She's just saying she's sorry for harassing me."

"Heaven forbid a Carrigan girl harass you."

Sully hastily made his way over to the booth, though still maintaining a sense of control.

"Madame, your burger, with le bacon. Un Coke, in le glass, and un milkshake, flavored with le chocolat."

"Is that supposed to be French, monsieur? It's hardly charming."

"I'm not that good at charming. But you're not French, so it's cool that I maimed that, right?"

"Yeah, I'm Irish and English."

"Me, too! Well, Irish."

"So you said earlier." She was trying very hard to cover up the biting hint of annoyance that always rang in her voice, but, as old habits die hard, it was still coming through.

"Uh…right. Well, how's that burger? You're not eating it at all."

"I've been too busy talking to you."

"Don't let me keep you from a good meal."

"On the contrary, I'd rather not let a good meal keep me from an even better conversation." Rather than ignite more conversation, Nicole's comment left the two silent, so they continued to polish off their meals. After some time with the silence, all that was left to consume on the table were a few last sips of Nicole's chocolate milkshake and a final bite of Sully's burger.

_I can't just let tonight end like this. He's got to think I'm absolutely insane. First I get mad at him, then I invite him to dinner, and then I don't even say anything to him! There's got to be some way to make him stay longer._

Sully's last bite of burger suddenly seemed to be worth at least three or four bites. It was almost as if his plate alone had gone back in time by a couple of minutes. Both Sully and Nicole noticed it, although neither made any obvious reaction.

_I must be going crazy. I'm absolutely positive I did not do that. And I'm even more positive that I definitely ate those bites just a second ago. Well, at least this gives me a chance to maybe try to strike up conversation again. I'll need more than a few bites to get a real good one going, though._

With that thought, Nicole's last few sips of milkshake turned into half a glass of milkshake. The sudden change was even more conspicuous than the earlier hamburger growth. This time, neither of the two could contain their excitement and astonishment; the two broke out into genuine laughter.

"What are you doing to the food?" Nicole managed to gasp out through the laughter.

"Nothing! I was about to ask you!"

"Well, I have more reason to suspect you, Seamus. Your name says it all."

"You're the one who's British and Irish. You're a Carrigan. You could own Hogwarts for all I know!"

"Are we going crazy then? I'm not imagining this, am I?"

"I'm pretty sure it's real. Or this is the most realistic dream I've had in my life."

"I really hope it's not. I could use a little excitement in my life, Seamus."

"You don't get enough as it is, Miss Carrigan?"

"Well, Mr. Sully, you'd be surprised how much control I have over my life and everyone else's. It gets way to predictable after a while. And you can stop re-growing my milkshake! I've been drinking out of it since you filled it up, and it still hasn't gone down at all."

"Are you joking? You actually think I'm doing something?"

"Well I sure as hell am not."

"Then explain why I now have a full burger, Nicky. I'm curious to know."

The two grew terribly silent in the sudden realization that all of the night's events had been real. They were not imagining anything. More terrifying, though, was the dawning that either Nicole and Sully were lying, or someone else had an eerie control over their lives. As neither of the two was intentionally messing around with the other, they were left glancing nervously around their shoulders for any remaining customers who might have seemed suspicious. The only certainty that night was a budding chemistry between one unlikely pair, and the uneasy certainty of the presence of some form of magic.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, only two more left to introduce! Then we get onto the juicy stuff—you'll see canon favorites and plenty of controversy in the magical world, as well as a certain curious revelation about our dear friend Jo. All to come in future chapters! As always, I love to hear your thoughts. I know this story doesn't have a huge following because not many people are keen on OC fics, but I promise you there will be plenty of canon in the future. I really appreciate those of you who take the time to read and review. Once again, please take care on the road!!


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